


A Quiet Night In

by Caedmon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Thunderstorms, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 12:22:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20082145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have plans to attend Shakespeare in the Park, but a sudden thunderstorm prevents them from going. They opt to enjoy a quiet night in, instead.Based on the tumblr prompt:Chrysalism: the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm





	A Quiet Night In

**Author's Note:**

> As always - I own nothing but the mistakes. This is only my second Ineffable Husbands fic, so be gentle with me. I am merely a dancing, fic-writing monkey, and comments/kudos are the tin coins in my cup. Thank you for them. 
> 
> Send me prompts! [I'm caedmonfaith on tumblr.](https://caedmonfaith.tumblr.com/)

Aziraphale hummed to himself absently as he tinkered with the final bit of bookkeeping he needed to do for the day - not that it really needed to be done, since he rarely sold his books. He just felt much more like a _proper_ shop owner when he did the proper things, like keep up with his ledger. His little routines were soothing to him - almost as soothing as the books he surrounded himself with - and he clung to them, deviating very little from his typical patterns of behavior. 

A sudden clap of thunder broke through the quiet, and he glanced up towards the front of the shop. _Odd, that._ The newspaper’s weather section had called for a crystalline sky until tomorrow evening, when it was supposed to rain. But today was supposed to be clear. Oh, a storm rather did put a damper on his plans to drag Crowley to Shakespeare in the Park tonight. 

He got to his feet, abandoning his ledger, and shuffled to the front of the shop, looking out the front door. It was pouring sheets, the people scurrying for cover barely visible through the heavy rain. Lightning struck, illuminating the darkened sky like day, and another clap of thunder crashed. Aziraphale made a moue for a moment, then sighed and flipped the sign on the shop from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, turning the deadbolt. 

“Bad news, dearest,” he called out as he turned away from the window, calling out to Crowley. 

The demon - _his_ demon, Aziraphale thought with a burst of happiness - appeared from behind one of the stacks. “Oh? What’s so bad?”

“The weather has most decidedly taken a turn,” he explained, “so I’m afraid there will be no production of As You Like It in the park tonight.”

“Blessed shame,” Crowley remarked, looking out the window. “Still, I suppose a quiet night in wouldn’t hurt either of us.”

Aziraphale gave him a soft smile - the smile only Crowley seemed able to inspire. “Of course not. Are you hungry?”

Crowley shrugged. “I could eat. Should I order in some carryout?” he offered, pulling out his mobile. “Greek? Indian?”

“Oh, no. No need to make some poor delivery driver go out into this storm. We’ll just scrounge around my kitchen - I’m sure I have something I could scare up. Although I’m not much of a cook. Seems I would be, doesn’t it? Oh, well. I suppose I could just miracle it, if I have to.”

“Not to worry, Zira,” Crowley soothed him. “I’ll go miracle something up for us while you pick out a book to read tonight, how about that?”

“I already have an anthology upstairs, waiting for me,” Aziraphale said, suddenly remembering the book he’d saved for himself as a treat. 

“Well, then, let’s get on with the quiet evening in.”

Aziraphale indicated the stairwell to his flat and gave a little bow as he made a sweeping motion with his arm. “After you, my love.”

...

Ninety minutes later found them on the couch in the same positions they nearly always took on their quiet nights in: Aziraphale sat at one end of the large, comfortable couch, knees together and back straight. He held a book in his right hand, and he was miracling the pages to turn them, because his left hand was busy playing with Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley had sprawled out over the remaining two thirds of the couch, one foot on the floor and the other propped on the arm of the couch. His head rested on Aziraphale’s lap, and he scrolled on his mobile while the angel read. Outside, the storm continued to rage, rain pelting the windows and thunder shaking the walls. It was peaceful, a quiet moment of chrysalism, and Aziraphale had seldom felt more content than he did right then. 

Absent of thought, his hand stilled in Crowley’s hair, and it wasn’t long before the demon butted his head up against the angel’s hand, much like a cat seeking to be petted. Aziraphale chuckled and looked down at the red-haired man in his lap. “Greedy serpent,” he chastised gently, but it came out sounding more like a caress, which, really, it was.

Crowley, for his part, just hummed contentedly as Aziraphale resumed his stroking of his head. 

A nearly deafening crack of thunder shook the building, and Aziraphale looked up with a frown. “Goodness. This storm seems to be going on quite a while. It’s not letting up a bit.”

“Good thing we didn’t go to Shakespeare in the Park then, eh? A quiet night in was just the thing.”

Something clicked in Aziraphale’s mind, and he looked back down at Crowley. “You miracled a storm, didn’t you? You didn’t want to go to Shakespeare in the Park, so you created a thunderstorm so we _couldn’t_ go.”

Crowley squirmed slightly, and it was a decidedly _guilty_ motion - at least, Aziraphale knew it to be just that. One couldn’t be friends with someone for six thousand years (and then more-than-friends for the last three months) without recognizing certain mannerisms. 

The demon didn’t say anything, and Aziraphale prodded him just a bit. “Crowley?”

He sat up, running a hand through his hair to try and tame it (but really making it look even more wild), and his yellow eyes wouldn’t meet Aziraphale’s. “It’s not that I _didn’t_ want to go…”

“Why did you feel the need to deceive me?” the angel asked softly, feeling just a touch hurt. 

“I wasn’t _deceiving_ you. At least, I wasn’t trying to. I didn’t even look at it that way. I just…” He hesitated, gathering his thoughts, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I only wanted you all to myself tonight and didn’t know how to make that happen otherwise,” Crowley admitted. 

“My dear, why didn’t you just _say so_?”

The demon still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I couldn’t,” he muttered. 

Aziraphale stared at him for a minute, wondering why in Heaven’s name Crowley would feel he couldn’t state something as simple as the desire for a quiet night in, then realization hit him. His beloved demon had spent six thousand years manipulating circumstances to get what he wanted, never ever revealing what he truly thought or felt - certainly not revealing the desires of his own heart. Even now, it was only in occasional, unguarded moments that Crowley could admit his love out loud. He communicated that love clearly enough through other means, little deeds that showed Aziraphale exactly what he meant to Crowley, but the act of expressing himself verbally was incredibly difficult. Aziraphale had accepted that he may not hear the words he cherished as often as he’d hoped to, in the centuries he’d daydreamed of actually being with Crowley, but he should have known that Crowley would seek to express his love in other ways - even when those ways seemed a bit misguided. 

“Oh, my dear,” he crooned, then leaned forward to press a kiss to Crowley’s lips. “My most darling dear, my sweet love.”

“Don’t call me bloody _sweet_,” Crowley mumbled, but there was no bite to it. His amber eyes flicked up to Aziraphale’s. “You’re not cross?”

“No, darling, I’m not cross. I understand, as best I can. Just - will you try for me? You needn’t ever have any fear of me, none at all. I promise. Anything you want, beloved, and it’s yours for the asking.”

The corner of Crowley’s lip quirked up. “Yeah?”

“Of course, dearest. But I can’t give you what you want or need if I don’t know what those things are. I need you to tell me, as best you can, so I can do my very best to make you happy. Can you do that?”

Crowley nodded. “I’ll try.”

That was all Aziraphale could ask for, and he didn’t push for more. He just pressed a kiss to his demon’s forehead, then gestured for him to resume his place lying on the couch. Crowley did so, and after a minute, they were comfortably situated again, Aziraphale’s hand back playing with the auburn hair idly. 

Another clap of thunder rattled the window panes, followed by a brilliant streak of lightning. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s head gently and suggested, “You _could _reduce the severity of the storm a bit.”

“Oh. Right. I’ll just clear the clouds out…” Crowley raised his hand to miracle the storm away, and Aziraphale caught him before he could make a motion. 

“No, don’t stop the storm. Leave it, just maybe… tone it down a bit. I’m concerned someone will be hurt by lightning or flash floods or perhaps a strong wind blowing something over onto them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting anyone,” Crowley said simply, and Aziraphale knew that to be true. He smiled fondly. 

The storm lessened, and the two beings - one celestial, one occult - enjoyed the sounds of the now-distant thunder and the rain pattering the windows. 

At length, when the clock neared midnight, they retired to Aziraphale’s bedroom and made a little thunder of their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
